


KNIGHTDAY

by ypsese



Category: Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: Abandonment, Aftermath of Violence, Avoidance, Blood and Injury, Depression, Divergent Reader, Domestic Violence, F/M, First Kiss, Forehead Kisses, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Light Petting, Mental Health Issues, Neck Kissing, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Past Rape/Non-con, Self-Esteem Issues, Teen Crush, Trust Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrequited Crush, fear simulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-06 00:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18377300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ypsese/pseuds/ypsese
Summary: I wanted to be everything I wasn't. I didn't want to be withdrawn and polite. I didn't want to be pitiful and impotent. I didn't want to be Abnegation.I wanted to be Dauntless.OR: Four witnesses something he shouldn't of in your fear landscape.





	1. KNIGHTDAY

—

I couldn't stop tapping my foot. I was too conscious of every breath I made, every twiddle of my fingers, every pump of my heart. My eyes dotted haphazardly across the white walls, trying to find a point of interest.

"Calm down," Fours finite voice cut me from my stupor and I jumped in my seat.

I blinked up at Four and watched his gaze shift. I wasn't sure what he was thinking, but I could make an accurate guess; something mixed between repugnance and irritation.

I had met Four when I first made the jump. From the moment I met him, I knew he disliked me. I can still remember the bitter and unforgiving stare he forced down when we met eyes. I had stumbled out of the net, tugging my hair behind my ear, blushing ear to ear under his fierce gaze.

I had always been small and weak, ever since I was born into Abnegation. My mother was Candor born and often berated me for my frail posture and demure temperament. Abnegation was known for being humble and quiet, but I was a multiplied fortitude of their core beliefs.

I didn't speak unless spoken to, I never stepped out of line, I never took risks. Somewhere in the broken mess that was my childhood, I had regressed into a shy, well-mannered nobody.

It was a shock to everyone when I joined Dauntless.

Even myself.

It didn't take long for people to catch onto my overwhelming uncertainty and took advantage of it. I was courteous and inexpert which in turn became a bright beacon to those who loved to pick on others for their own gain.

I got a special nickname from Peter Hayes as soon as I jumped on the train: Runt. The other initiates agreed almost immediately on the name. It stuck like honey and I couldn't run away from it. I was pushed around a lot, abused and made fun of. But I knew I wasn't capable of defending myself.

It was incredibly surprising that I even made it to the second stage.

"Pay attention," Four snapped, snagging my arm and pulling it hard. I was sure if he wanted to, he could've pulled my elbow from its socket.

"S-Sorry," I mumbled bashfully, looking down at my fingers. I'd always had trouble meeting people's eyes, but Four was an even bigger issue. I found his eyes remarkably intense, and every time I tried to meet his gaze my heart would beat so loud I feared it would explode.

I looked up, feeling Four's eyes burning into my skull like lasers. I swallowed hotly, trying not to blush at the way he was staring at me. Four has this small quirk in his lips, eyebrows creased and dark eyes burning.

I took a deep breath and leant back. I could feel myself internally freaking out as Four pressed a cool, tapered needle against my neck. Stinging pain jolted through my veins and I tried my hardest not to tense up or make noise.

It hurt, but I was used to pain. I'd been beaten to a pulp countless times by numerous Dauntless initiates, even Eric decided once that he wanted to get in on the action. I can still feel the intense phantom pain in my ribs sometimes.

Once Four injected the hallucinogen everything went weird and pasty. I sat awkwardly and waited for my brain to jumble in dysphoria. The fear simulation itself was something I was terrified of —not because I had many fears— but because I was uncertain of what my fears were.

All my life I'd been rebuked and looked down upon until any shred of self-esteem I held had been incinerated. I wasn't sure I was capable of having tangible fears. Things like that were foreign to me.

I, however, was proved immensely wrong.

I was thrown from my chair and stumbled into a grey house with grey walls. I let out a gaspy breath my head still spinning. My knees wobbled anxiously as I looked around the room, trying not to throw up.

The floors were hard and grey, the room was so calculable and square it jostled be into this poisonous sense of familiarity. I could feel my skin burning and my veins freezing all at once when I caught a glimpse outside the windows.

My throat turned into a big lump of molten rock. Outside was a monotonous field with immaculate grass. People walked by in a flurry of formal expressions: making small talk, helping each other out, chatting about political agreements. They wore dull clothes and their hair was tied up neatly.

In front of me sat a wooden table, stacked up with dirty bowls and stained glasses. The chairs were quirked at odd angles as if someone had gotten up from the dinner table to fetch something.

"Abnegation..." My voice was brutally hoarse, and I didn't understand why.

I dragged my feet across the grey floors, every fibre in my being screaming at me to turn and run. I stepped into the hallway and a fiery sensation of pure horror rippled through me.

I could feel my heartbeat rising in the realisation of where I was. A powerful drum was set alight inside me until I started to hyperventilate. My hands were trembling in my pockets and I could feel tiny beads of perspiration trickling down my spine.

I licked my lips slowly, a shallow and broken breath escaping me. I ran my shaking hand across my sleeve, trying to reassure myself that all of this wasn't real.

I looked out the window again and saw the distant glint of the outside walls. The dry sun glowed, tingling my skin and dancing across the dark palate of my tattoos.

The floor creaked and the well-known tinkle of a belt strap jostled me from my wayward gaze.

"Father..." I murmured, turning around to meet his impenetrable gaze.

From my turbulent memory, I found that he looked exactly the same. He held himself with that same domineering ambition: shoulders squared, jaw chiselled and teeth glistening like pearls.

He stepped towards me, his pale eyes glistening expectantly. I made a garbled noise that was close to a whimper, internally flinching at his approach.

"Where have you been?" His velvet voice feels like a punch straight to the heart. His eyes are twinkling, perfect face twisted into a sadistic grin.

He makes another step, and in turn, I step away, my entire body quivering with the force of a storm. Suddenly, I'm back in Abnegation, wearing grey clothes, with my grey exterior and grey personality.

My father reaches out a taut, muscular arm and pulls me. I stumbled for a second, staring at his distorted figure. I hit the floor like a ragdoll, my head lolling almost playfully against the concrete.

My eyes slacken as he drives a powerful kick right into my ribs, my body flying across the room lifelessly. My head hits the corner of a bench and blood splatters the ground as I fall.

"I've missed you, darling," he murmurs softly, looming over me, fists curled in angry reverence. I let out a broken moan, pain swarming around my skull as I bleed into the floor.

I watch him crouch down, my vision blurry and my heart squealing with pain. I see red pooling and dancing across the grey floor and the contrast takes my breath away. I see colour. I see the emerald in his eyes. The scarlet on the floor. The darkness of my tattoos. Suddenly, this isn't a fear landscape anymore, its a grave memory.

I take a quick breath, flattening against the floor as he sends a barrage of angry fists to my head and chest. One hits my collarbone and I arch against the floor in an angry bounce. Another hits my cheek and my eyes blend with red. One hits my temple and my sense of reality is bent.

After that, I lose count until it stops. I'm not sure how long it went on for, my judgment of time was disturbed and altered with every blow to the head.

My lips are open, trying suck in lungfuls of air. I can feel myself bleeding from everywhere. My teeth hit the back of my throat as I breathe through a mutilated windpipe, crushed behind the bruised hands of a lunatic. My hands are curled into passive fists, trembling as blood dries on my knuckles.

I hear that familiar jingle again, and my tiny heart starts to beat fast again, the clumsy staples that are keeping it from collapsing start to peel. I blink away blood and probably brain fluid and watch my father pull his pants down.

The blood that is drying against my ruptured spine starts to burn like acid. I try to move, but I'm seconds away from becoming a carcass. I wiggle manically, watching my own legs dangle uselessly, unresponsive and limp.

He grins at me, pulling down even more layers. It's standing tall and erect, and his gaze is hungry. I swallowed down bile and blood, unable to scream at the intense pain scorching through my body.

My father bends down, his hands fingering the ends of my grey dress. I can feel my face trembling, my facade seconds away from breaking. I watch him push my skirt up, the clothing bundling around my tortured hips.

My heart is screaming at me, pounding so loud that my chest starts to rattle. He hooks his bloody thumbs around my underwear until their dangling by my angles.

I swallow and look up at him. He's grinning, eyes cracked in thousands of different versions of himself. The polite, innocent man everyone outside the house knows. The handsome, charming widow that everyone pins after. The shy single-father everyone pities after the _accidental_ death of my mother.

Burning, rotting pain skewers my entire being as I feel him push inside. I scream, I shriek and I weep for him to stop. I don't care about the pain coursing through my throat, or how broken and whispy my voice is. I'm screeching for him to stop.

He doesn't.

Once again I feel myself regressing into a paralysed mental state. I'm losing all agency and will against his disturbed expression. I'm watching my own body like a third-party observer.

I go numb and quiet, staring up at the ceiling. And then finally, he stops, face contorted in bliss. My hips are burning, my stomach is broken and I feel revolting.

His lips ghost over my cheek and he whispers, " _Good girl_ ,"

—

I'm screaming as I launch from my chair. Someone grabs for me, but I'm falling too quickly. My arms flail and I hit the ground on my knees and keel over, vomiting on the ground.

Blood and spit mix together on the floor in an ugly mess. Hot, fat tears roll down my cheeks in violent streams. I'm gasping and choking, my hands are fisting so tight that my knuckles start to burn. I can't see, I can't breathe, I can feel myself panicking.

I can't stop vomiting: blood pours, warm and coppery from the cracks in my teeth. It dribbles down my chin and splatters against the floor, merging with everything else. I'm shaking, phantom pain rippling across every inch of my skin.

I feel a presence behind me and I shudder as a finger grazes my back. My legs buck, thighs quivering as I choke and cry. I turn, vision blurry as Four stares at me with his dark blue eyes.

"Don't touch me!" I gasp out, pushing Four away. He doesn't move an inch, standing as still as a statue and staring me like I'm some sort of wounded, wild animal.

It's hard to move. Hard to think. Hard to exist.

My chest quakes and my lips quiver and I'm hyperventilating. Panic, terror, horror drive me insane, running around in my frazzled brain like a freight train. I'm droning in and out of consciousness and want desperately to slip into the cracks in the walls and disappear permanently.

Four is crouching down, his hands are flat, palms facing the air and his mouth is moving. My eyelids are flickering and I can barely see him through my cracked, kaleidoscopic eyesight.

"(Y/N),"

My head is starting to sway and I can't concentrate. Everything is blurry and colourful, blood cells dance around in my eyes and dot Fours face. I'm still choking, I can hear it, but can't feel it.

Four reaches out for me and I flinch so hard I think I strain a muscle. I sit, panting like a puppy as Four puts two hands on my shoulders and stares at me. I blink, gaping at him, blood drying on my face like paint.

The pressure on my shoulders rattles me for a moment, my body rejecting the touch. But the feeling passes and is left with a weight that is comforting and safe.

I feel my heart start to repose. My eyes flutter, gazing at Four's handsome features. His expression is twisted, dark and upset but also disconcerting. I watch his pliant lips twitch into a grimace, eyes glassed up and leery.

I feel his hands slowly creep up to cup my neck, dull fingertips brushing my bloody skin. I watch him through lidded eyes, my breathing fragmented and my skin itchy.

I loll sideways into Four's touch, wanting to feel safe and warm and nothing more. His blue eyes bore into my own, watching with sharp intelligence as I struggle to breathe.

I watch his brooding, antagonistic facade deteriorate to ash as he cups my face gently and pulls me into his arms.

"Try and breathe for me," he whispers softly, his calloused hands coming to rest on my spine. My skin prickles at the intense sensation and I almost jolt out of his grip. Four tightens his grasp on my hips, curling me into his chest as I garble out nonsense.

I'm shivering, tucked into Four's dark Dauntless coat. Four is warm, strong and bold. I'm small, sickly and bashful. Try as I may, but I couldn't connect the dots as to why he was helping me.

I nudge myself into a crook in Four's side, the coppery taste of blood makes me want to vomit again, but I force it down. I inhale shakily, breathing in vanilla soap and whiskey. That alone managed to tug at my consciousness, but the final nail in the coffin was the chaotic regurgitation of my fear landscape rushing back to me all at once.

—

I wake up from beams of excited sunlight sparkling on my eyelids. I yawn, muscles stretching as my eyes flicker open, expecting to see the dark initiates ward around me. I, however, find myself in an unknown part of the Dauntless compound with actual windows and comfy blankets.

"You're awake,"

I turn instantly, startled out of my brains to see Four standing near the edge of the bed looking like he didn't get a wink of sleep. His eyes are shrouded with ugly crescent bags and his face is pale.

Flustered beyond belief, I jolt up in what I assume is Four's bed and rub my eyes. My hair is sticking up at all sorts of angles, my clothes...? Weren't my clothes — a black sweater and black sweatpants...too big to be my size.

I flushed bright red realising the predicament I was in. I looked back up and watch Four watch me. He seemed amused by my expression, but the tiny smile soon vanished from his face and was replaced with a dull bitterness.

"How are you feeling?" Four asked. I swallowed hotly, scratching at my arm and staring into his apprehensive gaze. Four looked a bit ruffled and out-of-it. I couldn't blame him for responding that way. Watching my fear simulation would shock any normal human being.

"I..."

I didn't know what to say. I felt terrible. It was hard to see straight without getting dizzy. My head was pulsating, my muscles hurt and my stomach was churning at the thought of having to go back into my fear landscape again.

"I'm alright," I managed to croak out, peeling away the blankets and stumbling to my feet. The cold air hits my bare feet and I shiver as I stand, looking over at Four anxiously.

Four is watching me cautiously, his expression wary. He doesn't say anything, but I can see him hovering around in my peripheral vision in this scarily kinetic stance. Like he's scared I'll fall over.

I glance down at my feet -- anything to get away from his staring. I realise I'm wearing Four's clothes and I can't help the red that sneaks up my neck. I crack each of my fingers, wriggle my toes and mindlessly twirl my hair.

"How are you really feeling?" Four asks softly.

I turn to him, blushing bright and obvious and I watch his expression tick like clockwork. Almost immediately I can tell he knows I'm not okay. I'm shaking and bewildered, weak and frail. He knows exactly what's going on and hasn't said a word. I watch in complete silence as he walks over, fists clenched in a weird mannerism and his posture immaculate.

The floor groans under the weight of his feet when he stops, towering over me like a metal beam. My heart flutters under his gaze and I start twiddling my fingers, shy and nervous.

Four reaches out and brushes a warm thumb across my temple, his eyes thawing out from bitter resentment to concern. My body jolts slightly, the skin under his thumb suddenly electrified and felicitous. A warm feeling pools in my chest and I sway a little, utterly hypnotised by Four.

I can't help but stare, captivated as he plays with the strands of loose hair around my face. I can feel my heart pounding in blotchy, inconsistent beats which only hastens my furious blush. A tiny gasp slips past my lips and I'm certain Four can hear just how fast my heart is beating.

Four suddenly pulls away, his hand retracting so fast I was afraid I'd burnt him. His eyes stay glued to mine, but he looks confused by his own behaviour. Four looks away, his entire body language shifting.

"Go get something to eat," he orders. "You look like shit,"

I step back from him, my face burning and my body trembling. I nod bashfully, scampering past him and out the nearest door.

—

"I heard you totally flunked on your fear landscape," Peter Hayes voice taunts from somewhere behind me.

I freeze for a moment, my fork hovering over my hamburger. The sound of his snarky voice makes me groan softly. As if my day could get any worse. I glance across at Will and Christina who are staring at me worryingly.

"Leave me alone," I muttered, picking at my food again, anxious for Peter to move on.

He doesn't.

"I can't fathom how you even made it to stage two," Peter continues, his domineering tone sets off a pang of rage inside me. "It's just...you're such a pushover,"

"Shut up, Peter," Christina snaps, one of her arms coming to snake around my shoulder.

I turned to catch his gaze, internally wincing at the snarled, cruel expression on his face.

"I'm just curious Runt..." he leaned forward, his breath hitting my face. "I'd heard rumours about your fear landscape,"

I'd always disliked Peter. He was ill-tempered, loved violence and thrived off harassing others. Peter and his lackeys were repugnant, cowardly lunatics. Despite his rash personality, he managed to sweep most girls off their feet with his radiant appearance. I, however, found his opalescent smile and green eyes loathsome.

"I feel bad," Peter ran a hand through his dark hair. "I heard Four had to drag you out of the session because you passed out!"

Howls of laughter echoed across the mess hall. I hadn't realised until now, but Peter had attracted a rather scornful crowd. I felt my ears go red in embarrassment and I turned away from Peter's gaze.

"Classic Stiff move," he laughed, jeering me. "You're all so weak and pathetic, I bet your fears are the same,"

My stomach churned at the statement and I could feel white, hot rage pooling in my chest. I hated conflict and confrontation. I'd learned from a young age to never interfere with quarrels, even if they were directed at myself.

I took a deep breath and went back to eating my food.

"It's amazing honestly," Peter sighed. "How you can take a verbal beating like a champ, but fold after a single punch in training,"

"Peter!" Christina snapped. "That's enough, go talk trash to someone who cares,"

Peter scoffed playfully. "The Runt does care. She's just too much of a crybaby to stand up and fight back."

I could feel Christina and Will's eyes on me, but I was too afraid to look at them. My stomach was tingling with seething resentment and I was trying with all my might to push the sickening feeling down.

People like Peter made me so mad. Condescending, hypocritical, bullies who project their own fears onto to other people to make themselves seem better.

"I bet your fear landscape was something pathetic, wasn't it?" Peter taunted. "You scared of bugs? Snakes? Or maybe you're scared of **me**."

I chewed on the inside of my lip so hard I could taste blood. My fists were tight around my fork, shaking in silent rage. I refused to say anything, I wanted to be the bigger person in this fight. But with everyone staring at me —chiding and sneering— it was impossible to force the anger down.

"Poor Runt..." Peter mocked, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder. I tensed, sitting up straight. I could feel my heart pounding and I swallowed nervously, wanting nothing more than to peel his disgusting hands off me.

"Weak, pathetic Stiff..." Peter whispered in my ear.

"...s _omeone should just put you out of your misery_."

I froze up. My fists curling against the table. 

I'd always thought that ending my own life would solve my problems, put me out of my misery. But I was from Abnegation. We were selfless people, who helped others and governed society. Suicide was considered a selfish act, a foreign one as well. Abnegation frowned upon those who had selfish desires, so for the longest time, I dreamt about it.

It became a sort of romanticised idea, putting myself out of years of suffering at the brutal hand of my father. It could all be washed away. I would lay awake at night, looking up at the ceiling and count all the ways I could take my own life.

I had no perception of how suicide could be seen as a bad thing. From the lacerated cacoon that was my mind and the fragile, poisonous memories that lived in there, death seemed like the best escape life had ever offered me. It was not shrouded in negative stigma, it wasn't a sad, life-destroying act, it was my release.

But then I was told about aptitude tests and transferring.

I can't recall who it was, or where or why. But the thought of changing Factions changed me. I'd never been told that I could transfer, I had just assumed I'd be stuck in Abnegation until I was old and grey.

I wanted to be everything I wasn't. I didn't want to be withdrawn and polite. I didn't want to be pitiful and impotent. I didn't want to be Abnegation. I wanted to be Dauntless.

I wanted to be brave and fearless. I wanted to be courageous and wild. I wanted to speak up for myself and be strong. I didn't want to be a coward.

So when Peter, some dumbass nobody suggested I do something I'd wanted to do for the longest time. Something inside me snapped.

When I joined Dauntless, I thought I'd change and became this astonishing version of myself who was spirited and brave. But I didn't. I came to Dauntless and got stepped on by everyone. I was still a pathetic pipsqueak.

I hated myself for it. I hated everything about myself. I didn't want to be me, and in turn, it affected me greatly.

I couldn't control myself in that very moment. I was out of my seat in a fraction of a second and my first was hurtling straight for poor Peter's face.

I loud crack ripped straight through my senses as I smashed my knuckles into the side of his head, connecting straight with his temple. Peter's green eyes flashed with shock and panic, as he was thrown backwards. I watched his eyes roll into the back of his head as it smashed against the table behind him.

I watched blood spurt from his nose on contact. Peter's head hit the table and ricocheted off like a bullet, leaving an insurmountable dent in the metal. He slid to the ground, bloody and unconscious, his face mutilated and porcine.

The Mess Hall dissolved into deadly silence. A huge gash had opened up on Peter's head like a third eye and was spilling blood across the floor. My stomach murmured angrily, my appetite deteriorating as I gazed upon my bleeding knuckles in disgust.

"What the hell..." someone whispered from beside you. "The Runt just knocked out Hayes,"

I looked up, breathless with fear. Everyone was watching. Eyes gazed and trailed across my body like I was a piece of unique meat. Christina and Will stared, eyes contorted in a mixture of disbelief and objection. I could feel my heart rattling in my chest, my knees started to quake.

I ran out of the Mess Hall, tears blurry in my eyes.

I'd never punched someone that hard before. I'd never knocked someone unconscious before. I'd never wanted to hurt anyone like I wanted to hurt Peter Hayes before.

The revelation sickened me. I hated the thought of relishing in someone's anguish and suffering. But punching Peter in the temple had set me alight with some sort of passion and intolerance.

As an Abnegation born, I'd always been open to the idea of resilience and patience. But breaking through the hard bred laws of Abnegations society made me feel strikingly alive. I punched Peter Hayes in the face and felt this overwhelming sensation of pleasure and power.

I wasn't sure whether I hated it or not. But this foreign feeling felt so right, so normal, so opposite. It made me feel incongruous. It was as if my fear landscape had brought back a primal instinct to challenge authority instead of crumbling underneath it.

I could feel the cogs inside my moral compass shifting with scary certainty and my heart squeezed.

Was it wrong that I didn't care if Peter was okay or not?

I stopped running when I got to the Pit. The familiar churn and froth beneath the bridge forced a strangled cry from my lips. Tears were dry and itchy on my cheeks. I felt disoriented but calm, standing on the edge of the bridge.

I looked down into the dark abyss of rocks and water and felt a jarring sensation to jump. I crept one black-clad boot tip over the line and felt adrenaline squeal in my veins. The cold wind pinched against my skin and played with my hair.

I didn't want to jump. I couldn't jump. For once, I wanted to live. I wanted this exhilarating warmth to stay. I wanted to stay.

"What are you doing?"

Someone snagged my wrist and tugged me away from the bridge edge. I stumbled on my feet, turning in an awkward, stiff movement towards whoever had pulled me.

Four was staring at me, his eyes burning with panic. I'm suddenly breathless, the fingers that are wrapped around my wrist set my skin alight in tingly delight. My knees wobble a bit, lips parted in a soft, shocked gasp.

A shred of sunlight pierces through the rocks and lights up Four's blue eyes. My heart fumbles around bashfully in my chest like a loose marble and I can feel the blush burning on my face.

Four looks down at me, his expression was solemn and calm. "I thought you were going to jump..."

His explanation leaves me winded. I watch him watch my expression unfold into reserved confusion. Despite how my body reacted whenever Four was near me, a jumbled mess of words slips past my lips.

"W-What if I did?"

Four's eyes flutter and his bottom lip twinges, his fingers unwind from my wrist, almost like my skin was poisonous.

"I won't let that happen," Four said, his face stricken with seriousness.

My heart thumped.

I wanted to ask why. Why he cared. Why he wanted to protect me from me. But from the moment I met Four, he'd always been a quiet, mysterious person. Four carried himself with this aloof and withdrawn exposition, like he was fronting something I hadn't figured out yet.

I blinked, realising Four was staring.

"Why do you do that?" I asked, trying to ignore Four's overwhelming height.

Four’s eyebrow twitched.

"Do what?"

I flushed under his gaze, twiddling my fingers. I'd always been awkward when it came to unpredictable conversation. Abnegation had screwed certain beliefs into my brain since birth. But talking to Four made me so nervous and jittery I was frightened I'd actually say something I meant.

"You stare," I mumbled out softly, staring at my hands, bruised and bloody.

Four let out this tottering sigh and his eyebrows furrowed together. He looked like he flinched for a fraction of a second. But my eyes had to be deceiving me because I’d never seen Four hesitate. I didn't think he was capable of it. Maybe he was just shocked by my verbose-ness. I'm pretty sure this is the most I've ever said to him since I arrived at Dauntless.

"You’re very talkative today..." Four noted, his eyes trailing my figure.

I quirked an eyebrow at him at his deflection.

"You think so?"

Four nodded. "It's nice."

I stuttered happily. I could feel myself burning up, but I didn't care anymore.

Four smiled down at me, his lips quirking into something so beautiful my heart fluttered. I knew I was gawking a little, but I couldn't help myself.

"I've never seen you smile before," I stammered softly.

Four turned away, but I could see his smile widening. I wasn't sure why he wanted to hide something as lovely as his smile, but at the same time, it was understandable. Dauntless was a ruthless Faction, and Four was the number one initiate from his year, he couldn't afford to show those sort of emotions.

"Go back to your quarters," Four said gently, brushing his arm across my cheek. "You look like shit.

His abrupt backhanded compliment made me laugh. The sound was foreign to me but felt wonderful. I couldn't help slapping my hand over my mouth to cover it out of embarrassment.

Four tilted his head at me and smiled again. My chest felt really nice seeing him smile. I'd never welcomed such giddy feelings in my entire life and I completely forgot about punching Peter in the face.

"Don't hide your laugh," Four hummed, but it came out as an order. "It's...cute,"

I gaped at him, my face bright and hot. I could hardly stand on my feet I was shaking so much. It felt like the butterflies had escaped my stomach and somehow gotten into my kneecaps.

I nodded shyly at his command and watched him go, my heart thumping remarkably.

—

I couldn’t sleep that night. Despite talking to Four, who seemed to calm me no matter the situation. I was afraid. I was up all night staring at the ceiling thinking about my next fear landscape. I didn't ever want to experience that again. I'd left Abnegation for that exact reason and it was still following me around.

Peter had been transferred to the medical ward with a bruised cheek and deep lacerations to his forehead. My friends had fussed over me and how cool I’d been. I didn’t feel cool.

The next day, I lumbered around Dauntless, exhausted. My lack of sleep had disgorged all my fears into faint hallucinations: noises, shapes, feelings. I couldn't concentrate on anyone or anything. Every time I closed my eyes I saw my Father's malevolent scowl.

I didn't mean to, but I subconsciously started avoiding Four. Thinking about him made me think about my fear landscape.

Early morning breakfast came by like whiplash. I spotted Four from across the Mess Hall, our eyes locked. He seemed happy to see me, except for the part where I dived into a crowd of Dauntless initiates and disappeared.

Next, I saw Four watching me in the gym with Tris and Uriah. We did our usual training: endurance, combat, artillery drills. I tried to ignore his cold stare, but with every blow I threw at the punching bag my anxiety seemed to worsen.

We took a break and I made a B-line for the drinking taps. I gulped up the water without hesitation. I was completely drained. My hair was sheen with sweat, my heart was pumping into overdrive and I wanted desperately to escape.

"You've been avoiding me," Four's voice pierced my skin like fire.

"No I haven't," I lied, turning around and almost bumping into his chest.

I stumbled back a bit, blushing at our proximity. Four's hand jerked out to steady my hip, his fingers grazing my exposed skin. He was grumbling, his blue eyes boring into mine.

I chewed on my lip, not brave enough to meet his gaze. He looked so angry and confused at the same time. It made my heart squeeze.

"It's...not you," I confessed, shy and bashful.

"What is it then?" Four snapped, his hand never leaving my hip.

I swallowed thickly, my throat hoarse. I wasn't sure how I was supposed to tell Four about my landscape. The essence of my fear was something so revolting I never wanted to talk about it. I started twiddling with my fingers again, something I did when I was nervous. Four must have picked up on it because he clasped my hands between his own.

"(Y/N)..." I peaked up at Four and the anger in his eyes had vanished entirely.

I let out a soft sigh. "I'm afraid of the simulation."

Four went quiet and his lips thinned into a straight line. I thought he'd let go and walk away like most people did, but instead, he squeezed me my hands.

Four was so warm, it radiated off him in beams. I resisted the urge to slump into his side and fall asleep. I was so incredibly tired and he was so caring and nice and warm and god did he smell good.

Something lifted off my shoulders and I sighed, squeezing my eyes shut. There was a lump of pure steel in my throat, but I managed to push it aside and speak.

"I can't go back in there again..." I could feel tears burning in the corners of my eyes. "I'd rather be Factionless,"

I could feel Four freeze up for a second, digesting my statement. He looked annoyed and jarred. I couldn't blame him, what he'd seen was scarring and I hated that he'd witnessed it.

"I don't want you to...go through that again," Four agreed. "I have an idea."

Before I could even ask, Four pulled me into his chest, swallowing me in his warmth.

—


	2. KNIGHTDAY

__

"Have you ever done this before?" I asked shyly. "M-Merging a landscape I mean,"

I watched Four's back muscles ripple, glancing at me in his peripheral vision. He was setting up the hallucinogen syringe, tapping away at buttons on the computer, totally focused.

"Mm...no," he replied softly, the casualness in his voice calming my nerves.

I sat up a bit in my chair, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Are you sure you want to?"

Four turned towards me, his bottom lip twinging into a small smile. "Why wouldn't I?"

My heart fluttered, but I couldn't help but scoff.

"I don't know...maybe because my head is revolting,"

It was meant to some sort of sarcastic joke to ease my nerves, but it ended up being a pitiful excuse to hide how I truly felt. It was a coping mechanism to force the vile images of my father as far away as I could.

Four paused from spinning the solvent into place on the syringe and looked over at me again. His dark eyes sent trembling jolts straight through my chest with such intensity that I felt as though I couldn't breathe.

"You're not revolting (Y/N)," Four muttered gently, adjusting the monitor. "You're anything but..."

My heart plummeted down to my stomach and I flushed red, my eyes darting down to stare at my bruised fingers. Four cleared his throat almost awkwardly, but before he could continue, a shrill notification from the computer broke his train of thought.

Four turned back to input some more codes and my heart deflated slightly. I started twisting the metal ring on my index finger, trying not to focus on the awkward silence Four had created. Instead, my body found solace in concentrating on the impending panic flaring in my stomach.

"Aren't you scared?" I whispered, my voice already going hoarse.

I watched the tendons in Fours neck clench when he shook his head.

"No."

Four sounded so definite, so sure of himself. Something warm lit up my centre. I sat up again, my shoulders straightening and my back cracking.

I watched Four flick at the glass tubes with his fingernails, awakening the solution. The liquid went the beautiful honey colour, but I knew it was anything but beautiful. It was manipulative and terrifying.

I swallowed thickly. "H-How are you not scared...?"

Four hesitated as he pressed the needle against my neck.

"I don't know..." he admitted. "...I just..."

Four shook his head, dissolving the sentence as he pressed the needle into my skin. I sucked in a breath, my throat tensing up. I could feel my expression twitching uncomfortably. I tried to hide it, but Four was incredibly perceptive.

I felt him squeeze my hand, the simple gesture sparkling a wildfire of crazy sensations straight to my skull.

"You're going to be fine," he whispered, brushing his thumb over my collarbone. "I won't let anything happen to you,"

I wish I could've responded, but the white wall and Four's impossible eyes disappeared in a wave of murky destruction. Colours flooded my eyes, distorting my reality and suddenly I was falling.

I hit the ground and rolled to my feet, finding myself in the familiar square box that was Abnegation. Grey was everywhere. On the walls, the floors, my clothes. It was even blocking out the sun.

My lungs shrivelled up in my chest and I heaved slightly, my eyes dotting around the room. I could barely breathe. Panic was rushing through me like fire: poking around in my head, pulling at my heartstrings.

I went to move and almost pulled my knee out of the socket. I grunted, flailing for a second and losing my balance. I quickly orientated myself, pulling my hair out of my eyes.

I looked down at my feet. They were clad in Dauntless approved shoes, covered in scuff marks and dried blood. Nothing seemed unusual. I tried moving again, but my feet wouldn't budge against the ground.

I could feel myself spiralling into panic. Not being able to move complicated things inexplicably. If I didn't have free will over my body, then how was I supposed to face my fears.

I swallowed, trying to ease the pounding resonating in my chest. I looked around the room for some sort of clue or idea. But it felt like the walls were closing in and I was frozen in place. I turned the best I could without falling, my eyes shifting anxiously around the room.

"(Y/N)," Four distinctive voice cut through me. I turned towards the sound of his voice, wavering into lively movement. I gasped, shocked that I could now walk. Somehow, Four's presence had allowed me to move again.

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. "F-Four?"

I watched his expression shift at the tone of my voice, his eyes flashing nervously. I didn't have to be in Erudite to know I looked scared.

"I'm here," Four assured, his arm spreading out to pull me into his chest. I hit his side like a cardboard box, shifting awkwardly. Four let out this choppy gasp when my fingerpads hit his skin. I inhaled softly, stretching out to coil myself around his extended limb.

I watched intently as a scene folded out in front of us. Stairs formed from the right, peeling across the textured reality of our minds and bending into a formation. A tabled popped up out of thin air, and then chairs.

I swallowed.

"I can't imagine you being in Abnegation..." Four whispered, clearly trying to take my mind off the situation. I would've laughed if the query hadn't felt jarring.

In what universe did I not blatantly standout as an Abnegation pupil? I was plain, unassuming and reserved. I rejected vanity, refused spirited conversation and had this uncanny ability to push away anyone who cared about me.

"How am I not a Stiff?" I whispered back, my hands stilled curled around his arm.

Four's muscles flexed restlessly underneath my palm.

"Why do you think you are?"

I hesitated. Was that supposed to be a trick question?

Four had never asked questions about me before. I didn't think he'd want to after what he'd seen. I'd always thought I was predictable and boring, so no questions were ever required in conversation. I'd never met someone who was curious about me, and his inquisition left me more breathless than before.

"Because everyone uses me as a punching bag," I managed to stammer out.

I heard Four's neck crack when he turned to look at me, clearly annoyed by my response.

I had been used to being victimised. Most Abengation transfers got harassed for it, being called Stiffs and all. We were considered inadequate and weak because of our customs and opinions. No one took notice of us for any other reason except to berate us.

I shouldn't have expected a Dauntless instructor to be different.

But Four was.

He wasn't just distant towards me. Four was cold towards everyone, even his friends and his fellow instructors. Four pushed everyone and anything away, he was detached and bitter and perplexing.

I became fascinated by Four. How he treated people equally, no matter their old Faction. But Four's harsh attitude towards during the physical stage of training stung. I didn't know why it had bothered me so much. I was used to all the hostility.

Four being cruel and threatening to me for some reason was vexatious. I wanted him to like me, to be different around me. The feeling itself, let alone the thoughts were so alien to me. It was this recalcitrant desire to gain his validation.

I wanted this one different person to notice me. I wanted Four.

"You're not a punching bag (Y/N)," Four murmured, ripping me from my thoughts.

I looked up at him, blinking haphazardly. He was staring down at me, analysing my expression.

"S-Sorry," I blushed. "I got distracted."

Four smiled, amused. I smiled back, captivated by his grin.

Something about Four opening up and revealing sides of him that I'd never seen before was exciting. It was almost like he trusted me. Like he was willing to let go of all the stigma and show me who he really was.

"Tobias..." a voice broke my train of thought and I snapped my head up.

A man was standing near the end of the stairs holding his belt. My brain, which had been hardwired to expect the wicked appearance of my father, almost exploded.

His face was incredibly similar to Four's, he was tall and slim, but not nearly as tall as Tobias. His hair was shaved close to his head and he was dressed in regular Abnegation clothes.

"T-That's Marcus Eaton..." I stammered. "W-What is he doing in..."

"Tobias..." the man called again, ignoring my stuttering. Four stammered under my touch, stumbling back a couple steps and bringing me with him. My palm slid across his arm, sheen under his now glowing skin.

I could feel him breathing heavily and his body was shaking ever so slightly. The cogs in my head started to twist, flashes of memory running around in my mind until something stuck.

"Marcus had a son..." I whispered, my grip never leaving Four's arm.

Four hesitated, glancing back at me.

"Tobias," the man called again. "I'm doing this so you can be better, I'm doing this for you,"

The irony in his words made me grip Four even tighter. I could feel my stomach churning, rage bubbling to the surface. Four's father stepped forward again, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

Marcus' eyes were a crooked dark blue, like Four's. But they were cruel, and almost ghoulish in the moonlight. He took another step, and another apparition of Marcus emerged near the left side of the room.

The similarities between Four's father and my own were nauseating. They had that same wicked sneer, that same misguided behaviour. How could a Faction breed a steadfast amount of people who developed an insatiable desire for violence? In Abnegation of all places.

"Look at me Tobias," Marcus commanded, raising his belt.

Four sucked in a rattled breath, flinching under his fathers gaze.

I could feel my heart pounding, witnessing an almost exact reverberation of my own fear. Four was...he was scared, just like I was. Four had suffered for so long, alone and isolated. But from his misery grew a strong, genuine person.

That realisation was enough to drive my actions.

I gathered all my courage and stepped in front of Four. Marcus' face didn't register any kind of realisation. He merely stared, holding his belt, his face grim.

Then I remembered that this was an amalgamation of Four's worst fears. It was an apparatus, tilting the scale of everyone's worst terrors, and manufacturing them into an alternate reality.

It wasn't real.

Despite knowing that, I still couldn't fathom watching Four experience something like this. The way he had watched my abuse. I refused to stand by and watch like some sort of exhilarated spectator.

"You're a monster from Four's past, and you'll stay that way," I heard myself saying, my voice no longer withdrawn.

I stepped in front of Four, ready to take whatever punishment followed. My shoulders were squared, my breath was even and I was pulsing with fury.

For once in my life I was scared. I wasn't frightened by the consequences of my actions. I fully committed to this moment.

Marcus' face twitched in agitation, his knuckles going white from crushing the belt. I sucked in a deep breath and prepared myself for his powerful strike.

But it never came.

I watched in awe as Marcus' face disintegrated like ash. His body crumpled, fading away into black. All around us, the distinguished images of Marcus twinged and turned to rumble, flittering to the floor.

The remaining particles hit my face and I stifled a gag, flailing my hands around to disperse the runoff. It tasted caustic, like sulphur and acid and I could feel my eyes welling with tears.

I turned back to Four, who was still rooted in the same spot. His face was pale, lips trembling and hands wound into tight fists. His expression had changed from unremitting dread to shock.

"I-I..." Four's voice cracked when he tried to speak. "Y-You just..."

I'd never heard Four stutter in his life until now. He'd always been upfront and articulate with how he spoke; what words he used, how he used them, the meaning behind them. But hearing Four unable to form a sentence made my heart squeeze.

I wanted to hug him. I wanted to able to comfort him the way he'd comforted me. I wanted to hold him tight and tell him everything was going to be alright. I wanted to caress him and kiss him and love him. I wanted to take him away from everything corrupt.

But before I could even say his name. The simulation changed.

My vision warped, colours swarmed and a screeching noise filled my ears.

I hit the ground and made no noise, which was super unnerving. My knees wobbled for a second as I gained my bearings. Four and I were standing in the Pit surrounded by initiates and instructors alike.

It was a vast crowd, waves of black and red murmuring to each other. Strobes of sunlight hit the white concrete and bounced off into my face. I flinched, walking back half a step and bumping into Four.

Four caught me by the waist, still silent from the last landscape. I felt myself blushing even though it wasn't real.

Zeke and Shauna were standing at the front of the crowd, glaring pointedly at us like we were wild animals that needed to be caged. Uriah, Tris and Will were whispering about me, I could hear every second word, but it was hard to match up the context of what they were murmuring about.

"Finally," Jeanine Matthews suddenly popped out of thin air, a stern but pleasant look on her face. "We've found you."

"Found me?" I asked, my eyebrows furrowing.

"Divergent scum," Eric spat from beside Jeanine. "You should all be exterminated."

I felt my heart plummet to the bottom of my stomach. I knew instantly that Four would realise what I was. Then after we got out of the simulation, he'd take me to the higher-ups and they'd execute me.

"You didn't do a good job at hiding it," Jeanine explained, flattening out her blue blouse despite the fact there were no wrinkles. "Or maybe you're just ignorant."

I almost chipped a tooth trying not to spit back at Jeanine and her childish monologue.

"The future belongs to those who know where they belong," Jeanine recapitulated, pacing in front of us. "You, do not belong."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Whatever she was saying, I'd heard it before, multiple times actually. Having an aptitude for Dauntless, Amity and Erudite, also known as being Divergent, was terrible and ruined the concept of the Faction system.

Ever since I had my aptitude test, I'd struggled to swallow the notion of being Divergent. It seemed improbable. All my life I'd been the epitome of Abnegation, and then some random person told me my results were inconclusive and that I matched three of the five Factions.

I didn't want to believe it. I couldn't believe it. More so that it scared me to be different.

"Tobias Eaton," Jeanine went on, a simper on her lips. "Two divergent's...two rats...together?"

My heart was no longer plummetting. Instead, thundering against my ribcage, screaming at me to understand.

I turned back and watched Four's expression melt in a mixture of shock, relief and something I didn't recognise.

"Isn't that cute?" Eric taunted, a smirk playing on his lips.

I wanted to punch him in his stupid face, knock all his pretty white teeth right out of his mouth and watch his splutter. But Four had other plans.

Four stepped up to Jeanine, his posture rigid and his fists curled up. The image made me think he was back in Dauntless training. A transfer from Abnegation...

I couldn't imagine that Four had come from Abnegation, with his intimidating demeanour and underlying resentment. But now, looking at Four, I saw all the signs. Four was tall, but he had short brown hair, clipped back Abnegation style. Four was a quiet person, firm, but relatively reserved.

It all seemed to click.

I didn't get enough time to dwell on my thoughts; however, because Four punched Jeanine right between the eyes.

It was an insane blow. Blood spurted out of Jeanine's delicate nose and it fractured awkwardly under the weight of Four's punch. I gaped as the light in her eyes dimmed and she crumpled to the floor in an ungainly lump. I resisted the urge to laugh at the baffled expression blanched on Eric's face.

"You're not real." Four breathed out, his shoulders relaxing. Eric's face twinged in rage and he threw his hand forward in a lousy fist. Four blocked the strike quickly and threw one back as a countermeasure.

The punch was so hard it broke the simulation and Eric's face.

Literally.

As soon as Four's fist hit Eric's cheek, the Dauntless Pit crumbled around us. Colours merged and peeled away, the floor beneath us crumbled into tiny pixelated frames and fell. Everyone around me fused together and distorted in a collage of faces and voices.

I sucked in a breath as I found myself back in the simulation room. White, ashen walls lined the outskirts of my vision as I sat up, my mind tingling with dizziness.

I turned in my seat to face Four and found that he was already staring back at me. His dark blue eyes weren't nearly as menacing now, they shone with this effortless beauty that I'd never been able to capture before. The little speck of light blue in Four's left iris shimmered like a gem.

I watched him sit up and flex the deltoid muscles in his shoulder. He looked a little tired but he didn't let on. A silence flittered into the room and rested uncomfortably between as we stared.

I stared at the way his eyelashes brushed the skin under his eyebrows. I stared at the tiny hook in his nose and the way his lower lips rested comfortably in a downwards slope, almost like he was perpetually frowning.

"You were..." I couldn't find the words to say. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Four laughed, rubbing his nose with his thumb. "You think talking about our abusive childhoods is a good conversation starter?"

I flushed red and shook my head.

Four laughed again and I felt his hand come to my cheek and gently nudge my chin up. I caught his gaze, my face burning at the way he was looking at me.

"You're so adorable," he muttered, trailing his thumb across my cheek.

My lips quivered at the compliment and I fidgeted in my seat, trying to sear the image of Four touching my skin into the depths of my memory. Whenever Four looked my way, it was hard to stand, but he was touching me and talking to me.

"I-I want to thank you," I managed to get out, bolting up straight when Four's thumb smoothed over the skin near my lip.

"For what?" Four whispered back, his eyes trailing over my face.

I swallowed softly, my chest swelling. "For trusting me enough to show me...to show me...your fears,"

Four paused, his thumb millimetres away from my lip and pulled away. I watched him crack his slender fingers, thrumming them nervously against his thigh.

I leant forward and returned the favour, brushing my thumb over his spare upper lip and a full lower lip, feeling the warm breath flow out his nose. Four's throat hitched for a fraction of a second before he careened slightly into my hand.

I flushed red again.

I'd always thought Four had hated me, but these past few days had proved my mentality wrong. I thought Four had denounced me from the minute he saw me. I thought Four actively went out of his way to avoid me just because he disliked me so much.

But I was wrong.

I leant forward a little, my hand that wasn't tracing Four's facial features trailed Four's body to rest on his toned chest, feeling his racing heartbeat against the palm of my hand.

The feeling made my stomach twist happily and I could help smiling as my thumb brushed over Four's eyebrow.

"You're staring at me," Four muttered softly, his hand coming up to cup my cheek.

I flushed red, smiling. "I'm just being inquisitive,"

Four's lips thinned. "...About me?"

I nodded, going even redder.

Then Four kissed me.

Yeah, I know that's blunt. But so was Four. Maybe it was out of impulsive. Abnegation wasn't known for making spur-of-the-moment decisions, they were rational, hesitant thinkers. But Four wasn't Abengation anymore, he was Dauntless.

But trusted me like he was Candor.

And he kissed me like he was Amity.

It was a soft, gentle kiss. It happened so suddenly and unexpectantly I almost fell off the chair. My fingers threaded into Four's hair, pulling myself upright as his arms curled around my waist.

My skin felt warm and my lips were burning against Four's own cool ones. He felt like a cool breeze, like smooth sand and orange sunsets. My heart lepted in my chest as his hands crept up my back to smooth over my spine.

We broke away, my lips quivering and my lungs shrivelling up. I was leaning against Four, trembling in his arms like a leaf. He didn't say anything, he merely smiled, nudging at my cheek with his nose.

My heart fluttered and I felt my jaw start to ache I smiled so hard. I'd never felt this way before, I'd never felt so awake. My entire body, every fibre, every cell, every molecule was thrumming with electricity.

”I’ve loved you for so long,” Four murmured into my ear, his lips tracing down my neck and across my collarbone.

I shivered at the delightful feeling. Hearing the most admirable, influential person in my life tell me his feelings, tell me his true and how’s the feelings. Without fear. Without regret. Without deceit. 

It made my heart swell into a big lump of jumbled emotions. 

I’d known nothing but pain and suffering for most of my childhood and adolescents. Only the bruising embrace of my fathers big hands, and his chapped lips against my cheek. 

Four showed me that it didn’t have to be that way. Four was safe and warm. He was peace and quiet. He was logic and reason. He was spirit and love. He strength and guidance. 

“I’ve loved you for a long time as well,” I found myself saying, my voice hoarse and shy. 

Four was the heart inside my chest. The brain inside my skull. The blood in my veins. The bones in my body. He was my voice and my leader.

He was Four and I was (Y/N) 

And Four made me feel alive. 

__


End file.
